


The Devil's Support Group

by LittleMissChatterbox2009, Meitslilyxxx



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avocados at Law, Descriptions of Injury, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt Matt, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:56:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7330381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissChatterbox2009/pseuds/LittleMissChatterbox2009, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meitslilyxxx/pseuds/Meitslilyxxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt does have a support group. And its bigger than he thinks.<br/>After the events of Season 2, Matt tries to continue alone, without anyone's help.<br/>But the residents of Hell's Kitchen aren't going to let him drive himself into the ground, so start doing what they can to help him, and unusual friendships develop</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Myself, Ellie, (LittleMissChatterbox) and Lily (Meitslilyxxx) are going to have a go at co-writing a Daredevil fic, taking turns in writing a chapter. We hope you enjoy!

 

'Foggy? You home? Urgh, I know you hate me. But, I'm kinda worried right now. Fog? I think, I think I was shot...'

Glancing down at his leg, head tilted, the red suited figure grimaced in pain, red hands clenching, in pain, or in anger. 

'Well, I'm pretty sure I was shot. And the bullet is still in me. I don't think I can get home right now, or get it out by myself.'

Daredevil stumbled down the fire escape, coming to a rest with his head pressed against Foggy's closed and curtained window.

'Fog? Please. Claire's gone. I don't know what to do. I can't go to the hospital. Fog? Please. I'm sorry.'

In his apartment, Foggy lay on his bed, concentrating on keeping calm, keeping his breathing shallow. In his head, he was chanting, please go away, he couldn't deal with this, not tonight, not on Daredevil's terms. If he wanted to try and fix their relationship it had to be on his terms, not on the vigilante's. He thought that Matt would leave him alone, was leaving him alone. For a few months now he had not heard from him, Matt had made no attempt to contact him, although Foggy was pretty sure that he was being followed when he walked home late at night, that there was a red shadow on the rooftops following him.

'Fog?'

Knowing for certain now that he wouldn't get an answer, he began to stumble home, clattering up the fire escape, dragging his left leg behind him. Once on the rooftop, he listened back to Foggy's apartment, hearing his breathing steady as though in sleep, but his friend's heartbeat was racing. He knew that Foggy would hate him if he kept on coming back, he had avoided him until tonight, kept an ear out to check he was safe, watched over him in the mask, but kept his distance.

'Goodbye Fog. Sorry I woke you up, I understand. Sorry. I wish we didn't have to be this way.' Quietly under his breath he spoke to his friend, knowing he wouldn't hear him, or that even if he did, he wouldn't want to.

Perched on the edge of the rooftop, he judged the distance to the neighbouring building. Through the wind flowing over metal, and the gentle creaking of the building, he built up his image, a fire escape, a ladder in the perfect position for him to jump onto, then climb up and repeat the process. Listening to the bullet shifting in his leg he prepared to jump, breathing through the pain, ignoring it, he could deal with that later. For now, he had the few blocks to get home, then he could sort that out. A few more jumps, run across a few more rooftops, climb some ladders, and then once he was home he could work out what he was supposed to do with his leg, then sleep.

Come on. Jump. Ignore your leg. You've had worse and managed to get home in one piece. 

Just jump. The fire escape isn't that far away, it's easy enough to just go across. 

Just leave him. There's no point waiting around, you're just losing more blood sat here waiting. 

He doesn't want you. He won't help you. Nelson and Murdock is over.

In a split second he made his decision, leaping to the fire escape, colliding with a clatter, his leg hanging uselessly below him. Breathing deeply, he started to pull himself up the fire escape, trying not to use his injured limb. Tired after a full night of day and night of work, he headed to the rooftop, not noticing the ladder he was on wasn't secured properly. When it started to fall, he panicked, letting go and trying to clutch onto the wall, a window, anything to stop his rather rapid descent to the ground. His gloved hands scrabbled against the brick of the walls, and he began to hope that there was no one below him, and hopefully a dumpster, as much as he hates the stench of them, it would be better than landing on concrete, and breaking something. Currently he couldn't concentrate, couldn't work out what was around him, all he knew is that the ground continued to get increasingly close, wind was rushing past his ears, muffling his hearing, removing all smells. He hit soft ground, food and fabric and cardboard and rats and flowers and smells and blood and bruises and the creaking of metal in muscle, against bone, in his leg, there shouldn't metal in his leg, and then his head was crashing into the metal of a dumpster, bringing the blessed relief of nothingness. 

* * *

_BREAKING NEWS_

_'Recent reports suggest that Daredevil, our resident vigilante, was injured last night. A local resident, who wishes to remain anonymous, says she saw him staggering across rooftops, and then fall off a fire escape near her apartment. She did not see him return to the rooftops, but he may have walked home through the streets.'_

_'We hope that he has managed to get medical treatment, if anyone has any news, please message the website, share your stories with us, and with the other residents of Hell's Kitchen. Help us to track the Man in Black.'_

* * *

'So you have your own website. Daredevil tracker. People watching out for you, posting when they see you, when you save them, where you've been. And all these people are worried about you. I know you think you're doing good here Matt, these people who don't know you think you are, but you have to please remember about us, the people who know Matt Murdock. I don't understand you sometimes Matty.'

Foggy glanced over at the unconscious figure on his coach, and the mask he had dropped on the floor. Bloody handprints were scattered around, and he knew he must have blood on his face, and he really needed to bleach his house after this, and work out how to get blood stains out of clothes. 

'You and your stupid horns Matt. Why the horns? My best friend is a catholic lawyer who runs around at night dressed as the devil. What even is my life?'

He pushed the first aid box, or crate, back into the cupboard. Although he didn't want anything to do with Matt these days, after his initial reveal, when Matt started telling the truth, he started going to first aid classes, stocking up. He was his best friend, although he didn't completely understand why he was doing, he was gonna help him. But things got worse, Matt started going out more, prioritising his night job over his day one, with no thoughts to those around him. Foggy would never get rid of his first aid kit, although he hated Matt he was still his best friend. Even if that meant researching how to fix bullet wounds at 1 o'clock in the morning, after dragging Matt's sorry self back home. For some reason his first aid classes never covered that, normal people tend to take wounds like that to the hospital. So, some of his talents may come from random pages on the internet. He should start a vigilant support group or something, there must be other people stuck trying to patch up their idiotic friends. If only Matt's supersenses had come with some super healing, then he wouldn't be here, working out how to take a bullet out of Matt's leg.

* * *

Sobbing, yelling through the turmoil of his senses that he could feel it grating against the bone, the bone that it luckily hadn't hit, had somehow lost enough momentum, to get lodged in his muscle, jarring, sat there, grinding on his senses. It hurt even more when someone pried it out of his leg, digging around, metal scraping against bone, poking at muscle. He embraced brief stages of unconsciousness when they came, feeling safe even though he didn't really know where he was, his sightless eyes rolling in his head, and eyelids closing.

When he woke up again he was in a dumpster behind his apartment, his mask still on, but the wound in his leg sewn up, the bullet removed, and everything wrapped up nicely. He had no idea who had helped him though, he couldn't remember anything, only falling off the ladder, feelings of confusion and an overload of senses, and then here. At least they didn't take his mask off though, there must be some Good Samaritans out there, people that didn't care for his identity.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LittleMissChatterbox2009 (Ellie) here. This chapter was previously posted on fanfiction.net (by myself, under the same username), as a singular oneshot, but has been edited in order to be improved and to take part in this co-author fic. Meitslilyxxx will be posting and updating when she can. :) Hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Matt had woken up in a dumpster outside of the building, wounds mostly patched, with only a fading scent of familiar cologne to offer any hint as to what had happened. Not that he was sure, the scent was weak, his head fuzzy, and he knew how easy it was to imagine the presence of someone, when they weren't there, not when you wanted them to be. Not that Foggy cared anyway. That was clear enough. Slowly, carefully, Matt pulled himself out of the dumpster, and into the alley.

Once in his apartment, he half fell onto the couch, tipped his head back. Someone had pulled him out of a dumpster, picked a bullet out of his leg, and patched various other minor injuries. They had then left him in the dumpster below his apartment. This meant someone knew who he was, knew where he lived. Or it was a coincidence. Or they knew who he was. If they knew who he was, they could tell anyone. The police, a newspaper, what's left of the mobs he's got on the wrong side of. Unless they were a friend, or someone sympathetic, someone he'd helped before.

Matt sighed. Meditate. He needed to meditate, to clear his head, then he could think about the nights events.

The next morning Matt limped into the office. Without Foggy or Karen it was quiet, and still. Normally the small rooms smelt of Karen's floral perfume, of her strawberry scented shampoo. It smelt of Foggy's Black Pepper and Ginseng Cologne, and the lemon shampoo he always uses. The rooms would smell of the food that their clients brought them, and of the take-out that him and Foggy would order when they worked late. Today, however, the rooms smelt of dust, of the pasta that their neighbour dropped on the stairs yesterday morning. Foggy's office was empty, bare. So was Karen's desk. His own was mostly empty, his laptop and a folder the only thing there. He had one client, the only one of the whole month. An elderly lady who was facing eviction, as she was unable to pay her extortionately high rent. Unfortunately, not being able to pay her rent, meant she couldn't pay him either. Not that he would drop the case. She needed his help, and hopefully there would be more clients soon.

Standing on the roof of building, a few blocks from his own, Matt listened to the sounds of the city around him. Tonight was quiet, a couple ambulances, a police car only a few blocks away, more further away. Most people where inside, a couple argued in the neighbouring building, a mother muttering over bills in a nearby apartment. In an alley, two blocks over, a man snarled at a couple. Matt heard the shake in a mans voice as he responded, then a shout, a crash, and someone crying, gasping, then running feet. He leapt, catching on the fire escape, and climbing quickly to a roof, ignoring the pain in his leg. The running man was now in an alley the other side of the building, his heart beat loud now, breathing laboured. There was a gap, 6 foot across, and a drop of of 12 to the next building. He jumped, but as he landed Matt's leg folded beneath him. He twisted as he fell, and landed awkwardly on his left shoulder, crashing in to a pile of rubble, and corrugated iron. He swore, rolled, caught his wrist between two breeze blocks, and landed on gravel and a sheet of iron.

There were footsteps on the stairs, jogging lightly, then a door on the other side of the roof, facing away, opening, hinges surprisingly well oiled, opening smoothly and quietly. Matt stood up, carefully, and slowly shifted his weight onto his right leg, which held. Briefly. As he folded to the floor, he heard the persons heartbeat spike momentarily. The person was male, about 5'10", with a surprisingly steady heartbeat. He smelt of leather, and gun oil, faintly of cigarette smoke. He had used mint shampoo, and wore an expensive cologne. When he spoke, there was a slight, almost imperceptible, accent.

"Daredevil?" His footsteps crunched on the gravel, and there was the click of the safety if his gun, and a rustle as he tucked it away. Matt shakily pushed himself back upright, resting his weight on his good leg, his left leg. "Hey. Are you ok?"

"Fine thank you." He needed to leave, to chase after the man who had had a knife.

"Sure. Which is why you fell. What happened?"

"Nothing, I am fine."

"I've got medical stuff downstairs. I can get it, if you don't try to leave while I'm gone."

"I don't need it, I need to follow someone."

"There is a hole in the fabric of your suit. I can see bandages through it. Bloodstained ones. You run off now, you're gonna fall of a roof, or wake up with someone less, hmm, accommodating than I am."

This was a bad idea, this was dangerous. This man could call the police. "I will not take off the mask."

"Fair. If you come downstairs it'll be easier for me. My roommate should be asleep."

"Fine."

"Cheerful, aren't you." The man stepped forward, then caught Matt as he tried to step back. "Yeah you can't walk on your own. Let me help you."

"I don't trust you."

"I'm not going to call the police."

"Why?"

"There's nothing in it for me. I have more to gain from helping you than I do from calling the police or leaving you to die on the roof." His heartbeat said truth, which in a way was comforting. The man wasn't trying to be nice, wasn't telling him that he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart, he would help Matt because it might benefit him.

The mans apartment was on the top floor, and was similar in size to Matt's own. It smelt clean, like lemon bleach, but not overpoweringly so. Matt could smell rich coffee, and takeaway pizza, and spiked tequila. It also smelt, like the man, of gun oil, and leather. Matt was pushed into a chair at the kitchen table. In a room nearby was a heartbeat, quicker and softer than the mans, and the soft hum of a laptops fan. In another room was a second heartbeat, slow and steady, sleeping.

The man was returning. "You have two roommates."

"Yes. Sorry." Lie. "You're going to have to take off the suit, if I'm gonna look at that leg. You hurt your shoulder as well?"

"I will not take off the mask. What's your name?"

"That seems fair." The smell of medical antiseptic filled the air, as did the sound of running water. "And my name is Thomas." Lie. Matt struggled out the suit, then frowned as Not-Thomas hummed softly. "You should eat more. Put you leg up on this chair. I have no strong painkillers, so try not to shout." Lie.

Thomas patched up Matt's leg, tutting slightly at the stitches the mystery person had put in, then strapped up his shoulder and his wrist. He is brisk and efficient, and his hands have callouses from guns. "You can't walk home like this."

"I don't want you to know where I live."

"Fair, but you can't walk home like this. You can put the suit back on now, but don't move that shoulder too much. You wrist is sprained, and your shoulder is very bruised, so you will need to ice it." There was movement in one of the rooms, and then footsteps. Thomas turned towards the door to the passage. "Hey."

"Hey. Daredevil?"

"I'll explain tomorrow."

"Okay." The other man moved away, down the passage.

"He seemed. Relaxed?"

"This is not the strangest thing he's ever seen."

The man is returning, and he yawns as he steps into the kitchen, bringing with him the scent of lavender fabric softener. "Here." The Braille label on the bottle that is thrown towards him reads Cocadamol. "Take 2, but not more than 4, I think in 24 hours. I can't remember. Not lots, anyway." The man opens a cupboard that smells of herbs and cardboard and coffee.

"It's 2:15 in the morning. Go back to bed." Thomas's voice is softer, warmer.

"I'm awake now."

"I need to leave." Matt couldn't stay here longer, if he couldn't hunt criminals, he should work on the case.

"I should go with you."

"You shouldn't."

"You'll collapse. Someone will find you. They will call the police. I promise not to follow you all of the way." True.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I feel like making Daredevil mad is a bad life choice." True. Thomas seems trustworthy, for now, but probably only until he needs something, or wants something.

"Also, you've helped a lot of people, done a lot of good. Ignore the grumpy act, he just can't be bothered to be nice to people."

Helped a lot of people, done a lot of good. That true, but it wasn't enough. He could do more, should do more.

Thomas walked beside him most of the way back to his building, texting the whole way, other than when he caught Matt when he stumbled.

"You can stop here." They were already too close to his building.

"Don't do this vigilante thing for a few nights. You will get hurt."

"Mm" The Cocadamol was making his head fuzzy, dulling his senses.

He stumbled up the stairs, into his apartment.

"Hey Red."

"Get out."

"You're going to hurt yourself. This, this is not healthy. You are going to get shot, or stabbed, or fall of a roof, or pass out from exhaustion."

"You broke into my apartment, Frank. Leave." He stepped towards his room using the wall to support himself. He hadn't noticed Frank in his apartment, he couldn't walk straight, his leg hurt every time he put weight on it, his shoulder ached, making his head hurt in time with it. This was why he didn't take painkillers.

"Hey. Hey. Red. What's wrong?" Frank sounds worried, heart beating faster, moving towards Matt.

"I'm fine. Please leave."

"Red. Matt. Hey. You can't do this. I'll tell Karen."

"Are you 5? She knows. So does Foggy. Why are you still here?"

"Why aren't they running around trying to stop you from doing this then?" Why won't he leave? Why won't he stop asking questions? They don't care.

"They don't care. Go away."

"Fine, I'll leave. But I think they do care."

Matt didn't reply, and stumbled towards his bedroom. Dimly he heard the door shut as Frank left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't too out of character. It's been a while since I watched Daredevil.  
> I'm also sorry this was so incredibly late. Sorry. Sorry to Ellie, who has been very patient (I love you). 
> 
> Also, black Pepper and ginseng bath soak is the best thing ever. Smells like magic and Autumn and amazingness.  
> Sooooo, Ellie's chapter will be up I don't know when, she is more organised, so probably sooner than 6 months away (yes that is how long it took me).


	3. Chapter 3

'Mr Daredevil sir? Are you okay?'

Matt was crouched on the floor, hidden in an alleyway, focusing on a conversation in one of the apartments above him. Something started to poke him in his side, and there was something cold and wet in his face. He quickly realised that it was not a threat, but why hadn't he picked up on their arrival? And who was it?

He was too tired, too injured, had lost too much blood to be staying out this late every night, if they were a threat, then he would be dead. Killed in the backstreets of Hell's Kitchen, because someone managed to sneak up on him. It wouldn't do. He needed to train more, to be better, to reduce his weaknesses. Weaknesses like this would get him killed. 

'Urm, yes thank you.' With a deep breath he pulled himself up onto his feet and then looked towards his companion. Companions. An elderly lady and her small dog? Or cat? No, it smelt like dog. That must have been what was in his face, the dog's nose. And she had been poking him with her walking stick. Doesn't she know he can be dangerous?

'You shouldn't be out this late on your own miss. It's not safe.' 

'I was just taking Scruffy here for a walk, he can protect me from any attackers. And I have a gun in my purse.'

Tilting his head, Matt did confirm she had a fully loaded gun in her purse, the smell of gunpowder and metal mixing through the fabric bag, but having a gun and knowing how to shoot one were two rather different things... And he wasn't too sure if Scruffy would be able to attack anyone, he didn't seem the fiercest dog, more likely to run away than bite an attacker.

'I'd rather you didn't have to shoot or defend yourself against anyone at all miss.'

'Ooh, such concern from a nice young man.' She shook her head and clucked her tongue, making Matt feel as though he was 11 years old and being told off by Sister Catherine again.

'I was here when those aliens came, I held my own against them, I know what I'm doing. I'm not as defenceless as I may look. I don't need a man to defend me all the time.' Truth, don't judge a book by its cover, old ladies can kill aliens. 

'Please miss, I don't like the feeling of you being out on your own so late at night. If you're not out, then no one can harm you. Please.'

'Well young man, if it would make you feel better, then you can walk me back to my house.'

Matt tilted his head towards the flat he was listening to. Hearing sounds of snoring and a shower running he decided it was a good enough time to leave, and so nodded, taking one small step towards the lady, grimacing as he felt himself wobble. He stretched a hand out to steady himself against the wall, and tried to ignore the pain, he could deal with that later. When he finished the night's work, he could sit and meditate, work out his injuries, and prepare for the next day. But for now, protect the city, protect its residents, including this lady. 

'You don't look so healthy young man. Do you need my stick?'

'I'm fine miss, just a bit stiff, been sat there for a while.' Don't show anyone any weakness, weakness is not good, weakness gets you killed.

'Okay. It's this way.' 

Usually when Matt followed someone he headed to the rooftops, but he didn't have the strength to do so this time, and he could hear well enough from the ground. As he walked, keeping an ear out for people around them, he thought of the previous few nights events. Why were people putting themselves in danger to help him? He shouldn't need their help, he shouldn't be so weak, Stick would be disappointed in him. Thomas, why was he so willing to help? And why did he and his roommate seem so relaxed, so uncaring about the fact there was a vigilante in their home? It seemed so bizarre. And Frank? Why was he in his apartment, why did he come back to Hell's Kitchen? 

So many questions, and no one he could speak to about them. No one he could confide in. 

But it was safer this way. Safer to be alone, no family, no friends, so no one else became hurt, no one else became a target. And it kept his identity safe, the fewer people he let close, the less the risk. 

Next to him, Scruffy the dog was walking, staring up at him, at the devil in the mask. The lady was humming, an old song, one Matt thought he knew. 

Around them were the sounds of a city at night. Snoring, the sounds of radios softly playing. A couple blocks over a baby had woken up, her father creeping out of bed in order to go soothe her, quietly hoping his partner stayed asleep. A wild cat was looking through a bin, her kittens mewling hungrily. The sharp quick burst of an ambulance siren ruined the peace, before it switched off. In a hospital, there were sounds of pain, crying, hushed prayers, the screams of newborns. Currently, nothing he needed to worry about. A couple were having an argument, he listened, concerned waiting for violence to start, but they soon broke down crying, apologising. 

'We're here now dear. Thank you. Do you want to come in for a drink?' The lady speaking brought Matt out of his concentration, bringing him back to the present, away from his thoughts.

'I shouldn't, I should be-'

'The city can wait for 5 minutes, come have a cup of coffee, you look like you need it.'

'Honestly miss, I'm fine. I'll be fine, I'll be finishing soon.'

'Well then, a coffee won't hurt. You can keep that mask on, I don't care. But you look as though you need to have a drink, to sit and warm, you shouldn't be out all night on your own with no help.'

'I-, I-.' 

'Come on. 5 minutes, sit with us. You can open the window and sit by it if that makes you feel better.'

Seeing he wasn't going to get out of this, and that a coffee really sounded great now, he followed her inside her house, keeping an ear out for neighbours watching them, for danger around them. 

'Coffee?' She put the kettle on, taking mugs down from shelves. 'And can I call you anything other than Daredevil? I feel a bit silly.'

'Um, yeah, coffee please. And people call me Mike sometimes.' Matt loitered in the doorway, feeling a fool for being stood in an old lady's house dressed up like the devil. He knew he shouldn't be here. 

'Here you go then Mike. Take a seat.' Taking the coffee Matt walked over to a chair by a window. 'Open that window if you want. I don't mind. I'm just going to give Scruffy some food then I'll be in.'

Sitting down, Matt felt confused, countless questions still running through his mind. Why was a random stranger to eager to invite him into her home? Did the people in the city really trust him so much? He was glad people were looking out for him, but what would be the risk to them? He was here to protect them, they weren't supposed to be looking after him so much. 

And, more importantly for this current moment in time, how awkward was this conversation going to be? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, chapter 3 up! Sorry, slightly shorter than the others so far, but seemed an appropriate time to stop! Hope you are all enjoying this so far. Lily will be posting the next chapter as soon as she has written it, so hopefully not too long! Thank you to all those who have commented and given Kudos!
> 
> -Ellie. x


	4. Chapter 4

'My name is Lorraine, by the way. And would you like brandy in the coffee? Bad habit, I know, but you look like you could need it.' He heard her add a splash to her own and coffee, than gestured to his. He took a sip, and relaxed slightly. Just coffee, no other additives but sugar, and it was hot and sweet.

'No, thank you.' The little dog was eating something that smelt like boiled chicken and rice, with a strong spice mixed in. Turmeric? 'If you don't mind me asking, what do you feed your dog?'

'Oh he has issues you know, chicken, with turmeric and rice. Good for the joints and his, rather delicate, stomach. I don't think that you want to know, really.'

She was being so nice, yet she had no reason to be. Why would she help him? He could ask. 

'Now young man, why do you do this? Dress up as a Devil and run around helping people? Oh, I'm not saying that it's not a good thing, but you can't say that it's doing you any favours personally.'

'It helps people. If I can help people, why shouldn't I?' There's someone crying on the street below, but there's a young woman comforting her. 

'You're hurt. You are clearly not well. If I were you Mike, I'd go home, take tomorrow off work, and spend it sleeping. And I would not go out tomorrow night either.'

'I need to. There are people who need my help.' There were too many to help. People might die, if he took even one night off.

'This is not something that you could do on your own, Mike. Ask for help. Who knows that you do this? Family, or friends? A support group is important, it's how you will stay alive. And besides, one night off will not, will not plunge the city into darkness and destruction. You do know that you are not alone, don't you?' But he was, he has to do this alone, there wasn't anyone that could help. 'What about that young man in Queens, Spider-boy, or whatever he's being called?' The little dog, Scruffy, trotted over to him, and snuffled at his feet. 

'I'm fine. Why did you help me?' He had to be fine, he couldn't afford a night, or a day off.

'Because you need it. Because you are bleeding, and in pain, and lying about it.'

She sounded sincere, and slightly sad. 'Not talking to people you trust can cause people to make foolish decisions.'

'You sound as if you're talking from experience.'

'I knew a hero once. Well, sort off. I was a soldier during the war. I met Captain America.' she laughed softly. "Met is one word for it. Kissed him actually. "For the women of America". But you won't be bothered about all that. And then he crashed a plane into the Arctic.' Met Captain America? Who was this woman? She wasn't lying. 

'I'm not going to crash a plane into the Arctic.'

'Of course I wasn't suggesting that. But other foolish choices will be made. Like going out when you are injured, and in pain, and suffering from blood loss.' She was sincere, and she sounded worried about him. And she was repeating what Frank had said, and what Thomas had said. So maybe they had a point. 'So, what you're going to do is this. Go home, sleep for as long as you can. 9 hours minimum. Take a day, or 3, off work. Talk to a friend. Properly talk to them. Don't be a vigilante until you are healed. And I mean really healed.'

'I can't do that.' Although the idea was tempting. He was in pain, and so, so tired. But he couldn't "take a day or 3 off work". That was not possible. There bills. People who needed a lawyer.

'Yes you can.' She was so certain, that everything could be fixed, that it was as simple as just, taking a day off, and talking to someone. 

'You don't understand.'

'I'm sure I don't. At the very least you need someone you can trust with medical experience. I don't know how you've managed this long.'

'How do you know there's not someone?'

'You're here. No sensible person would let you run off and put yourself in danger when you are not fit to do so.'

'I, there was, I mean. There was someone. But she doesn't want to be any part of this anymore.' Claire had made that very clear.

'Someone tried to sort out your leg. You should get that suit fixed by the way, armour with holes in it is not very effective.' She had a point, but everything was hard to focus on now, he was no longer cold, and Loraine's apartment was comforting, and he was so tired.

'Just someone who helped me. It's not important' was it? He didn't think so, but thinking was hard, and the fuzziness would not go away. 'I will be fine.'

'Stubbornness is getting you slowly killed. Mike?' He voice was louder, and sharper suddenly, worried. Matt shook his head, but it only made the pain worse.

'I should go.' Leave, before he passed out, before someone discovered him in this ladies home, before, something, before...

Pain flared in his leg, and Matt pulled away as a cold nose pushed into his face. 'Mike, look at me please. Mike?' He was on the floor, and there was too much weight on his injured leg and shoulder. Loraine was bending over him. 'I'm afraid I can't let you leave Mike, you won't make it as far the stairs. You're sleeping on my sofa. And I will think about what to do next.' He couldn't do that, couldn't stay here. But she was nice, kind, and she wasn't threatening, and it was easier to let her help him up, and onto the small couch, which was worn, and soft, and smelt of dog. He remembered, dully and slowly, Foggy's voice, and familiar hands pushing towards a sofa, but it was blurred, and indistinct, and it was so much easier to just sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! I did it! Sorry if this is ramble and kinda awkward. But I did it! :)  
> Ellie's turn now, so that chapter should be up soonish?


	5. Chapter 5

When Matt awoke, he was confused. This wasn't his apartment, this smelt of turmeric, of brandy and coffee, of dog. A television was on quietly in the room, background noise to someone bustling around, hands smelling of antiseptic. Reaching up a hand, his mask was still on, his identity safe.  
Lorraine. That's where he was.  
The strange old lady who had no reservation with inviting a masked stranger into her home, and someone who had once known Captain America, the first avenger. Who had once kissed the first avenger.  
'Mike? Are you awake?' A soft voice carried through the room. Matt groaned, pushing himself up onto one elbow, and vainly trying to look at Lorraine, not just in her direction. 'Lie back down young man! You're in no state to be moving, I don't know how you're managing to go out every night in your condition!'  
'My condition?' Worriedly, Matt slumped back down, weak, but in his mind working out how he would escape if he needed to.  
'You're injured. To the point that any other man would be laid up in hospital, probably unconscious.'  
'I'm fine.'  
'Mike. You're obviously not. You're bleeding from a wound in your leg, your wrist looks to be at least sprained, and I'm guessing there's other injuries I can't see. Bruised ribs? Previous concussions?'  
'I'll be fine, I'm fine.'  
'Have you taken any medication recently?'  
'I don't need any.'  
'Stop being so stubborn! I'm helping you, it's fairly obvious no one else has helped you for a while. So just listen to me, Mike. Medication.'  
'Cocadamol, last night, one dose.'  
'Anything else?'  
'No.'  
Lorraine shook her head, and muttered under her breath, 'You must be in so much pain right now.' Matt vaguely heard her, but was slowly slipping back into sleep.  
'Mike! Don't go to sleep just yet!' She gently prodded his cheek, just below the mask, where she could see no injuries. 'Are you allergic to anything, or have any medical conditions?'  
'No, and, urm, no. Don't take mask off.'  
'Mask stays on for now, okay. Take these.'  
She unscrewed a medical bottle, shaking two pills out into her hand, and passing them to Mike, along with a small glass of water.  
'What is it?'  
'Cocadamol.' Truth. He took the medicine, before slumping back down on the couch, forehead wrinkled in pain, but trying to meditate through it. It was only now, in an area he felt safe, that he really acknowledged how much pain he was in, assessing his body and its injuries. Mostly just bruises, his ribs were bruised but not fractured. His leg had mostly stopped bleeding, and hopefully it was clean of any dirt. His wrist seemed to have a hairline fracture, he could hear it creaking when he moved. Nothing serious enough for hospital attention, in theory he should just rest it for a few days. That wouldn't be possible though, Hell's Kitchen needs his protection.  
  
When he fell asleep, he dreamt of his childhood, of St Agnes orphanage and of Sister Catherine. Of a soldier named Lorraine who once met Captain America. Of how they had both looked after him when it seemed everyone who had loved him had gone. Of Foggy and Karen. It was safer to push them away, they'd only be targets if Daredevil was associated with them.  
  
In brief periods of wakefulness he was aware of Lorraine bustling around him, patching his wounded leg, wrapping a support around his wrist. His uniform he remembered waking to help remove, the zips and buckles confusing to anyone else but him. And Foggy and Claire. But they weren't around to help and that was all his fault. It was safer this way.  
  
Lorraine could be in danger. If anyone knew she had helped him they might target her. He had to get away.  
  
Jolting to wakefulness, he swung his legs off the sofa, standing for a brief second before collapsing to the floor, his leg and ribs throbbing with pain, and blankets tangled around him.  
'Mike! Mike? What are you doing? No, don't try to move, let me help you.'  
'No, m'fine, can't stay here, dangerous. You'll get hurt. Can't let anyone else get hurt. Don't want them to die. Not again.' Standing up, face pale with pain, Matt attempted to pull his uniform back on, fingers fumbling over catches and rips in the armour.  
'If you go out now Mike, you'll get hurt, you'll die. I don't know how far away you live, but I don't think you'll even get out of the door without collapsing. How you managed to get out on your patrol tonight I have no idea, you seem to have a talent for ignoring pain until it gets to be too much. So now sit down, shut up, and let someone look after you for once.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, my fault for the late chapter for once... If Lily could stop injuring him so much maybe this would be easier to fix... :) Hopefully Lily's chapter won't be as delayed.


	6. Chapter 6

Everything hurt, and he was sitting on a relative stranger's couch, with her dog snuffling around her feet. She had looked after him, and now wouldn't let him leave in case he got hurt. This was... strange.

"Mike. Mike. Listen to me!" He turned to face her, slowly, her voice sounded strange, like she was far away and underwater at the same time. The drugs were dulling his senses, and pain was making his head fuzzy and numb. "Is there anyone, anyone at all who I should call? Anyone who you trust enough to let help you? What about whoever bandaged up that leg? It's well done but clearly not from a hospital."

He couldn't call anyone, it wasn't safe for them to be around him. "There's no one, he was a stranger. I just need sleep, then I'll be fine."

"Hmmm. You'll sleep here for what's left of tonight. You can stay as long as you need to, but you need proper medical attention." Her voice was fading out, and Matt lay back on the couch and let the drugs pull him into sleep.

There was Foggy, arguing outside a hospital, and Karen, and Claire tutting as she patched injuries and stitched wounds. Frank saying that he was going to get hurt. Nuns snapping angrily, the far off melodies of the choir. Incense and gun oil and dust and blood and sweat and someone screaming. Stone corridors that echoed and cramped passageways filled with mold. Drinking in a bar with comforting warmth of Foggy leaning against his shoulder, the smell of Karen's hair. A confusing mess of sharp sounds and too strong scents and jarring noises. A bottle smashing against tile flooring.

He woke up suddenly, jerked out of confusing dreams but the crash of metal against metal. He was already halfway to standing, but the movement made his head spin.

"I'm so sorry, I dropped Scruffy's food bowl. You should go back to sleep, you clearly needed it." He could hear the city outside.  
"What time is it?" His ribs and wrist were hurting less, and the support bandage around his wrist had started to itch. His head was clearer, and the ache in his leg was less sharp. He had no idea how long he's been asleep.

"9pm. I was just going to take Scruffy out for his evening stroll, I didn't want to wake you."

"How long was I asleep for?" 9pm couldn't be right, he never slept for that long. He could have slept for that long. He was supposed to be meeting his client, she was relying on him. He was supposed to pay rent.

"Well I found you about 9:30 Monday evening, you've been sleeping solidly since about 6 this morning. Do you need anything? Help yourself while I take Scruffy, I won't be long. And do not leave this apartment!" She was worried about him, Matt could hear it in her heartbeat. And he'd missed a whole day. That should never have happened. He should never have allowed that to happen.

"Wait! What day is it?"

"Wednesday. Remember, stay there! I will back in about half an hour."

2 days. He'd managed to lose 2 days to illness and sleep. How? Stick would never have allowed a slip up like this. HE shouldn't allow a slip up like this. Matt jumped as the door slammed behind Lorraine. He hadn't noticed her leaving. Despite the noise outside, the apartment suddenly seemed very quiet. Standing up hurt his leg, and moving hurt his ribs and leg, but he managed to find his way to a small, pine cleaning spray scented bathroom. He thought about leaving, but it was easier to stay in Lorraine's apartment, where it was warm and safe. He found glasses eventually, after looking through every cupboard and drunk 3 glasses of water before he felt full and slightly ill. But he felt better now, more alert and awake than he had felt in the last few days combined.

When Lorraine returned Matt was sitting on the couch, holding his uniform and methodically working through it to find the holes. "You're looking better Mike. Have you eaten anything?"

"Uh. No. I should go. Thank you, for your help. I. I, uh, I appreciate it." He was grateful, but he really should leave. He needed to work, his client had been relying on him, he'd put her at risk, as well as Lorraine.

"Why? You're safe here." She sounded worried about Matt, and Scruffy was leaning against his leg, and he didn't want to leave, not really. "At least eat something before you leave."

He should eat something, it had been a couple of days.

"And another thing. Are you the reason I saw a man with a gun on the opposite roof yesterday and when I took Scruffy out earlier?"

Fuck. Her heartbeat was steady, she was telling the truth. Matt had no idea who it could be. Frank perhaps, or one of the many enemies he'd made, waiting for their chance.

"I need to leave. Now. You're not safe."

"Don't be silly he's not a threat, I made him coffee yesterday." Truth. But what was she thinking? Who would do that? Why would she do that? It was stupid and dangerous and reckless. He said that to her, perhaps more aggressively than he had meant.

"Rather hypocritical really Mike. Anyway, it's was fine, he wasn't clear on why he was there, but he didn't seem immediately dangerous to either of us." Truth, but Matt was confused still. "Anyway, weren't you going to have something to eat? 20 minutes and you can have spaghetti bolognase."

"Did you have any ideas who he was?"

"Frank Castle I believe. Oh don't look so surprised, I follow the news." Frank. That was... probably alright, he was unlikely to be a threat to Lorraine.

"Ok. I don't think he's immediately dangerous. And, if it's OK, of course, spaghetti bolognase would be nice. If that's OK. " this was probably a stupid idea, but he was still in pain, and still tired, and Frank was unlikely to be an unmediated threat to either of them. Stick would be furious if he knew, if he knew the risks that Matt was taking, but stick wasn't here, and he was tired.

"Of course is OK. Now do you want to shower while I make pasta? I'm assuming that you know where it is now. I'll find you some of my husband's old clothes to wear."

"Thank you."

The shower stung cuts and bruises, and the bullet wound in his leg ached as water worked it's way in. He should have made sure it was kept dry really, but it was too late now. Lorraine had found him a large woolen jumper, and soft pajama pants to wear, and they were warm and comforting. But they smelt of black pepper and ginseng and they brought back painful memories of Foggy as he pulled them on. Foggy laughing in Josie's bar, winning Karen's case together, bleeding on his fire escape only a couple of nights ago. Foggy's voice muttering about a daredevil tracker, Foggy's swearing as he dig a bullet out his leg, blood on a floor that smelt like Foggy's apartment. Shit. He stumbled of the bathroom in a daze,

"It was Foggy."

"What was that Mike? Are you alright?" He half heard Lorraine's heart beat spike with worry, "Mike? You look terrible, are you ok?"

"I- It was him. It was Foggy who found me, who looked after me."

"Mike, you're not making sense, what's wrong?" Her heart was beating fast, and Scruffy was snuffling anxiously around her feet. On the stove, pasta was boiling, and the bolognase source filled the air with tomato and mince.

"The person who helped me. On Saturday. I couldn't remember. It was Foggy. I thought he didn't care. I thought. I don't know. I-"

"Mike" Lorraine's voice was calm and steady. "Listen to me. Focus on my voice. Okay? I need you to breathe, because you are not making any sense right now, and I can't help if i don't know what's wrong."

Matt sucked in one deep breath, then another, and again as his heart rate slowed. "I'm sorry. That was unnecessary. Sorry."

"Don't be silly, don't apologise. Can you tell me what happened?" Her voice stayed steady, he heart rate was slowing, and Scruffy was still snuffling at his feet. The wooden table was solid beneath his hands, and the smell of food was comforting.

"I-I don't, I don't remember clearly, I think, I think Foggy helped me?"

"I don't know who Foggy is Mike, and is that a good thing?"

"Yes." Yes. It was. It meant that Foggy cared. But he had still woken up in a dumpster, so maybe he didn't care that much. But why would Foggy help him anyway?

"Mike. How are you feeling? Deep breaths remember." Lorraine was breathing slowly, and her heartbeat was steady, focusing on her was easier. Matt sucked in several lungfuls of air as his breathing slowed.

"I'm. I just. I remembered something. I wasn't expecting it. I thought he didn't care, I thought-" he trailed off. If Foggy cared, why did he wake up in a dumpster? If he didn't why did he help Matt? Why? The Foggy he knew didn't act like that, but then, Matt had fucked up. Pretty bad. He got Foggy /shot/. He left Foggy in hospital. He abandoned his best friend. Why would Foggy want to do anything for him, want to help him.

"Do you want to tell me what it was Mike?" Lorraine sounded worried. Maybe. Maybe if he told her then she would stop worrying about her.

"I. I got shot. Couple nights ago. I think Saturday. I went to Foggy's for help. I thought that he didn't. That he didn't care. I didn't remember. I woke up in a dumpster, someone had fixed my leg. Sort of. I didn't remember. I didn't think about it after. It hurt, I fell again. Did more damage. There was a guy, couple nights ago, he stitched my leg up again, I'd pulled some of them out on accident. They gave me painkillers, it was. It was strange. They were strange. I think I hit my head,everything's been fuzzy and painful. But I remembered. In the shower. It was Foggy, the first time. He helped me and i didn't remember, but then he left me again. I don't. I don't understand."

"Ok. Right. Ok. Mike. Um. What don't you understand?" She was still worried, heart rate was very fast. Crap. She was supposed to be less worried.

"Why would he help me, but then leave me again. He doesn't do that. He never half does anything. He's- He's Foggy. He does work for free cos he just wants to help people. If he was going to leave me then why would he help at all?"

"Because he's your, friend?" She doesn't sound sure though.

"We haven't spoken. Hadn't spoken. In. A while. He doesn't. Didn't like that I do this, that I'm daredevil."

"But wouldn't you want to help Foggy in that position?"

"That's different. I get. I get too attached, that's what Stick said. I shouldn't. I need to look out for myself, thats what everyone else does, look out for themselves first. That's what Stick would have done, what anyone would have done. Just because I get too attached, too, too invested, doesn't mean anyone else would feel the same way. They wouldn't."

"Mike." Lorraine sounded upset, sounded worried. "That's not true. I care, Foggy cares, your stalker on the roof clearly doesn't hate you, whoever told you that, they're wrong. They're lying. Mike, look at me. That. Is. Not. True." She sounded so sure, so confident. But Stick rarely lied. "If I only ever looked out for myself, I wouldn't have helped you, I wouldn't even have joined the army. If that was true, the world would be a much darker place. Mike. Listen to me. Maybe this Stick person thought that was true, but he was, he is, wrong. And from what I know about you, I don't think you would be friends with someone who only cares about themselves. Your friend helped you, when you needed him. You would, you do, do the same for others." Her voice was calming, and Matt realised she was holding his head in her hands. He could hear her heartbeat in the palms of her hands. "Okay. Are you feeling better?" He nodded, slowly. "Good. I think you need something to eat."

"You know that it's not safe for you, having me here."

Lorraine sighed. "We've been through this already, I'm perfectly fine. Although I suppose if you're not sure I can fetch Frank Castle? Although I wasn't aware that Daredevil had any association with him, but if you're a vigilante it's a small city I suppose." She had talked to Frank. That was. Unexpected. And strange. And it put her in even more danger, Frank had more enemies than he did.

The spaghetti was good, it was homecooked and fresh, and he was more hungry than he had realised. As he ate, he realised that Lorraine was slowly typing on a phone.

"Now don't get annoyed, but I text Frank Castle."

"You what?" How. Why? Why did she have his number? Why?

"Well you appear to trust him in some way, and besides, you can't stay on my sofa forever. Plus of course, I'm sure his medical knowledge is far more up to date than mine is." Truth. She seemed more honest than most people, there was no hidden agenda that he could guess, even not-Thomas had wanted something, even if it was just to not make another enemy, but Lorraine only seemed to care about his well being. "He'll be across in a moment. And he will take you home. I'm not throwing you out, of course, if you're not comfortable going with him you can stay, and obviously you will visit me. But he appears to know you, he certainly knows your friends better than i do, and i think that he can help you." Truth. Maybe she really did care?

"You speak to him a lot?"

"We've had a few chats when I bring him coffee." There were heavy footsteps approaching on the stairs.

Matt turned to face the door as it swung open, and Scruffy yipped as Frank walked in. He nodded at Lorraine, then bent to scratch the small dog's head.

"Hello. Yes you're a good boy, who's a good dog, hey?" That was unexpected. He'd known that Frank had a dog, but the baby voice was not what he expected. Frank turned towards him. "Hey Red. You need to stop trying to get yourself killed."

"I do hope this isn't any trouble Frank. It's just I don't think I can really look after him here." Lorraine was sounding slightly worried now, but his head was hurting again, and it was getting tricky to properly decipher the mess of reactions that were caused by emotions.

"I don't mind." truth. But at this point Matt was too exhausted to bother with arguing.

"I don't mind either."

"Wonderful! You will take him home, won't you Frank? And make him see a doctor, a professional."

"We'll go to my apartment, it's closer. And yes, I will do my best."

Lorraine was bustling around, putting bowls in the sink and packing Matt's suit into a bag. She pushed the bag towards him. "Here you go. I've cleaned it as best i can, but it will need mending."

"I- thank you. For everything."

"Oh it's no trouble." She stepped back and nodded, quickly, at him. "Well, you know where I live, so I expect regular visits." She was sincere.

"I. Uh. Thank you. For everything."

"I mean it. I'm free Monday evening, I will be expecting you. No arguing." Matt smiled at her.

"Thank you. I will be there." Lorraine stepped forward and hugged him, and Scruffy snuffled at his leg.

"Please don't get yourself killed before monday, Mike."

"I won't. And thank you, again." She laughed.

"Don't worry about it. And visit a doctor in the meantime, you could do with professional help. "

Frank was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, humming slightly. "All done? Cos I have stuff to do"

"Yes yes. Please don't get yourself killed Mike"

Matt smiled at her. "I'll do my best." Lorraine had been kind to him, had helped him when he needed it. Getting himself killed would be a poor way to repay her.

He left with Frank, as Lorraine waved goodbye and Scruffy sneezed at them from the sofa.

\-----------------------------------------------------  
It has come to our attention that there has been no reports of Daredevil, of his whereabouts or his activities in the last few days. Our most recent report suggests he had been injured, and we hope that this absence is due to recovery. However, previous behaviour indicates that this is not normal for Daredevil. We urge anyone with information to contact us through our website, please help us to track the man in black.  
\--------------------------------------------------------

"I have this." Matt caught it before Franks throw could drop it on the floor. It was a large, incredibly soft hoodie, with drawstrings in the bottom hem and plasticy shapes on the front that suggested letters.

"Where did you get this?"

"Online shop, they sent the wrong thing, haven't returned it yet." Truth, but there was a slight jump in his heartbeat, not all of the truth?

Matt tugged it over his head. It was warm and very soft, the sleeves came down over his fingers and the hem hung below his hips. When he pulled the hood up it was soft around his neck and large enough to fall forwards over his face. It smelt like Franks dog and aftershave.

"That's adorable. I'll take a photo, send it to Karen." He was half laughing.

"No. Are you still talking to her?"

"She won't. But this should be recorded. Yeah, scowling doesn't make you look less adorable Red." Matt glared more. But if Karen wasn't talking to Frank either she should be safe. They were both dangerous, better for people to stay away. "Stop sulking. You should talk to her, or them."

"They don't want to." If Foggy did care, then he wouldn't have left him.

"Stubbornness may make you a good lawyer, but you're fucking hard to deal with sometimes." He doesn't sound angry though, just tired.

"Mmmm." the hoodie was very soft, Matt realised he had been playing with the sleeve cuff for the past few minutes, stroking the fabric repetitively.

"You know that you can't continue doing this right. You are going to get killed, and soon."

"Mmmm."

"Red. Don't ignore me. You need to rest." Frank was probably right. But there were things he needed to do.

"How did you find me anyway? Was I that bad at hiding?" Matt changed the subject, tried to joke, but if Frank could find him so easily, how hard would it be for someone else to follow him? How much more risk had he been putting those around him at than he thought?

"I. Uh. I have this ring." Truth.

"You have a ring."

"Let me explain. I bought it. In a market. Don't make that face, I'm telling the truth." He was, or thought he was. "I was in an alley, one like every alley in new York, dumpster, trash, old fire escape. I closed my eyes, I think there was wind, it blew dust in my face, and. I don't know. When I opened them there was a market, not an alley. Behind me was the alley, and in front was a market. It was- it was incredible. There were lights everywhere, hung on stalls and in bottles and jars and some just floating in the sky. It was busy, full of people, and each stall was different. There was a woman sitting on a rug, with snakes. When she sung, they moved, and came alive, and then turned into models, in gold and silver and jewels. The were people selling flowers and jewellery and food and weapons and everything and anything you can imagine. I saw a man with antlers selling a woman flower crowns, some full of bright colours and flowers, some made of thorns and wire. He told her that each had a purpose and could be used only once. There was a man with one blue eye and one gold selling weapons, knives that folded down impossibly small, swords that could be disguised as a pen, bullets that could never miss their target. I bought this ring from a women who wore a silver veil, and her fingernails were iron claws. I bought 2, actually. When I paid for the first she said payment could come in any form, and I gave her a bullet. I don't know why, or seemed like a good idea at the time. This one was picked up after a fight, I'd seen it kill 2 people, and I picked it up and kept it. She took it as payment, but said it was worth the cost of 2 rings at least, so I picked up this one. She told me it could find anyone, anywhere, I just needed something of theirs. I had to leave it overnight in water under the light of the moon, and the water had to contain something of yours. When I was in your apartment? I took hair, from your pillow. I wasn't expecting it to work, the whole thing felt weird. Dreamlike. But I tried it, and when I wore the ring there was - like a string round my finger, and it was pulling. And when I followed it, I found you."

"What the fuck" he was crazy. "You're crazy" 

"I know it sounds it, but its true. I swear." His heartbeat told the truth, but how could that be possible? "Look, if aliens can come from a wormhole in the sky, there can be magical markets." Frank did have a point.

"And it's creepy. Could you find me anywhere with that ring?"

"I guess so. But the magic might not last forever, I don't know anything about it."

Frank didn't sound particularly sure, and that unsettled Matt. Frank was always sure of himself, even when he was being arrogant and aggressive and threatening people, he was always sure if what he was doing and why. This was out if character. But then, this wasn't normal, wasn't what either of them where used to. It was hard to be sure when you were so out of your depth.

Frank moved towards the wall. "You can sleep on the sofa, I'm going to bed." He pulled blankets from a cupboard and threw them onto the sofa. "We can talk about all this shit in the morning. Try not to die in the night." The conversation was very much over, and Matt was, somehow, still tired. This could be fixed, or talked about, or something, but for now he was tired and his head still hurt and the jumper was very soft, and Matt wanted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That was a long chapter. Is it painfully obvious that this wasn't written in chronological order? And im sorry that this took so long. Again. I'm bad at time management.  
> Also does anyone need a timeline? Cos I had to make one for this chapter!  
> Writing advice: PLANS ARE IMPORTANT AND ESSENTIAL. making it up as you go along gets confusing very quickly  
> And the hoody that frank gives matt is this primark sleep one that ellie and i both own. It's very comfy. I like it a lot.  
> https://goo.gl/images/GXjPCj


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated the tags, warning for graphic description of injury. Not major, but could affect some people, skip the paragraph from 'A gentle cracking within his wrist'

Once again, Matt was waking up on a stranger’s couch. The apartment he was in was silent, only the tick of a clock and the hum of electronics the sound in the room. In a neighbouring flat an alarm was going off, a mother waking her children up for the day, a cat left alone mewling at a door. Outside the world was waking up, cars and buses driving down the street, the ring of bicycles, footsteps and paws clicking against the sidewalk. The flutter of wings as pigeons scrambled for food, rats and cats raiding dumpsters in search of a meal before being shooed off by shop owners.

‘Frank?’ Although he couldn’t hear his heartbeat or his breathing, he knew that the drugs and pain in his system were still making him a bit hazy, and he’d met groups of people before who were capable of moving in complete silence, even to his own heightened senses.

Struggling to his feet, he moved to the kitchen area, the vibrations from his footsteps allowing him to get a rough image of the layout, but even so he stumbled over an empty metal bowl on the floor. Crouching down, he picked it up, running his hands over the edge to feel the shape of pawprints, and the name ‘Max’.

‘Oh yeah, he has a dog. Maybe he’s out with it.’ Replacing the bowl on the floor he continued his slow steps to the kitchen, hands running over the countertop as he opened each cupboard in search of glasses, and cursing the fact that everyone’s kitchens have different layouts. He wished for his own apartment, where he knew where everything was, and could easily pick up what he wanted. Eventually he found a mug, which he quickly filled with water, gulping it down to ease his dry throat. Rubbing some water over his face he was reminded his mask was still on. It should have been too uncomfortable for him to sleep in, the drugs were really messing up his senses. He should stop being so weak and letting people give him drugs, even though he can’t remember it he must have accepted more Cocomadol from Lorraine, and probably Frank. Why wasn’t he able to just meditate the pain away this time, what had he done, why was he so weak?

Slowly he walked back to the sofa, wincing as he sat down and pulling a blanket over his lap. He tried to start meditating, fiddling with the cuff on his borrowed jumper. The hood was big enough for him to hide his eyes underneath, so he removed his mask, pulling the hood low down and resting against the back of the sofa, thoughts mulling over in his head. Was he dreaming last night when Frank was telling him about magic? Had he been drugged? That would explain why he was feeling so hazy, why everything didn’t make sense, magic couldn’t be real. Could it?

If he had been drugged, then who had drugged him? Not-Thomas? Frank? Lorraine? He’d been in Lorraine’s apartment for quite a while, maybe she had slipped something into drinks she had given him, or lied when she said he was giving him Cocomadol? She had been trained in the army in WW2, maybe she had been trained as a spy, and could cover her heartbeat, make it pass off that she was telling the truth. But why would she drug him? What would Lorraine gain from drugging Daredevil, unless she was working for someone else, if someone was controlling her, threatening her. SHIELD, HYDRA, what would any of them gain from removing Daredevil from Hell’s Kitchen?

Restless from his thoughts he stood up and attempted to pace through the apartment, his arms out to prevent him from falling over anything again, his brain still muddled and unable to form a clear picture of his space. Running his hands over a table he brushed against a piece of paper and a box of pills, braille on the box reading,‘Tramadil’.

Picking up the paper he ran his hands over, trying to pick an impression of any of the words on it. But Frank wasn’t Foggy, didn’t know that if he wanted to write notes, that he had to make it really clear, or use braille. Frank probably just figured he could work it out with his senses. He could vaguely pick out the word ‘out’ and ‘soon’ so he assumed that Frank had just said he was going out for a bit, and would be back soon. Probably to pick up, or walk his dog, or to do whatever it is that the sniper usually did in the day time. Placing the note back down he chose not to take the medication, wanting to try and clear his mind, and resumed his circuit around the apartment, working out the dimensions, finding out where he could find weapons, in the form of kitchen knives. Frank had put his suit somewhere, leaving him only with his mask which he had now abandoned on the sofa.

After pacing for a considerable time, he headed back to the sofa in order to try and meditate. With the drugs slowly working their way out of his system his mind was becoming steadily clearer, instead confusion was working its way in, questions over magic, as well as the deep throbbing sense of pain, the feeling of thread holding skin together, of broken bones creaking together. A gentle cracking within his wrist when he moved it, a fractured bone from trapping it between breeze blocks on the night he met not-Thomas. The swelling of a sprained shoulder, and the heat of inflamed muscles. The torn ragged edges of skin and muscle torn apart by a bullet, slowly healing but catching against each other with every movement. The smell of blood, dried to his skin and his hair, a cut now healed.  And deep down, the smell of infection, one Matt didn’t quite recognise, didn’t understand, but knew was wrong. His slow methodical cataloguing of his body slowly slipped him into a calmer trance, as he tried to focus on healing, to become stronger again. He couldn’t carry on being this weak, this useless.

The rattle of keys against the door drew Matt from his dozing thoughts and he looked up as the clatter of claws on wooden flooring made their way towards him, heavy breathing from the dog as it jumped up onto the sofa, pushing its face into Matt’s own.

‘Max! Down boy!’ Frank shouted as Matt spluttered, weakly trying to push the dog off him. ‘Sorry Red, he doesn’t get personal space. He won’t hurt. Guessing you saw my note?’

‘Uh, yeah, I saw it. Couldn’t read it though, picking on a blind man like that.’ A small sense of panic was settling in as Matt remembered his lack of mask, and he urgently tugged the hood of his jumper down, to cover his eyes completely, feeling insecure and not wanting Frank to see his sightless eyes.

‘Ah. Yeah. My mistake. I left Max at another of my safe houses, where I was staying at last, had to go pick him up, take him out for a walk on the way.’ Frank spoke as he rattled around the kitchen, filling a bowl with raw meat and dog kibble, the smell wafting over to Matt and making him want to gag, his empty stomach recoiling at the scent.

‘You hungry Red? You need to eat something, soup, bread, anything like that?’

‘Why do you care Frank?’ Matt asked, his throat cracking as though with tears, and he quickly coughed to cover it up.

‘You’re ill, the sooner I help to fix you up, the sooner you can go home, and the sooner I can have Lorraine off my back about looking after you. Karen would possibly murder me too, and Nelson. And dead bodies are a pain to dispose of.’ _Part Truth._ Lie by omission. Did he honestly care about Red? Was this another person he had to work out how to cut out of his life. No, he was a fellow vigilante, the Punisher, incapable of love or affection after what happened to his family. Anything he showed was just in order to gain something. He may value Matt as a fellow vigilante, as someone fighting a similar fight, against the Hand, against the Russians, or whichever mafia was haunting the shadows of Hell Kitchen this week. It’s always better to have allies than enemies, helping to heal Matt is a surefire way to get his help in the future. Matt would never go so far as to kill his enemies though, not like Frank did. Stick had tried to train it into him, but he was too soft to kill others, too weak. He didn’t want to turn into one of the monsters who murdered his father, one of the monsters he was fighting against.

‘Eat something Matt, then we’ll have a look at this leg of yours. Lorraine said that someone seemed to have resewn it already, but as you won’t tell us who, I want to check it. Dying from infection is never the best way for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to go.’ Matt was never really sure when Frank worked out who he was, but they had slowly developed a mutual agreement with each other, sort of similar to brothers, if Matt had had any experience to compare against. Especially after Frank had a short thing with Karen.

After slowly eating a couple of slices of bread, with Frank’s gaze piercing him from where he sat opposite, methodically disassembling and reassembling a gun, Matt accepted his fate, that Frank had something in for him, that he was going to be mothered by the Punisher for the foreseeable future. In the past he would have just shrugged off injuries, but, well it’s the first time he’d had a bullet in him, the first time he hadn’t had Claire to help him, the first time he hadn’t had Foggy chasing after him, to be in work. He felt as though he could almost disappear from the world and no one would really notice.

‘Red. C’mon, out of dreamland. Leg. Then we can sort out the next step.’

Moving and stretching a little Matt winced as he reached down and began to roll up his trouser leg, pyjama bottoms that he couldn’t really remember putting on, but remembered Lorraine saying something about how they used to be her husbands. They smelt of her and her house, and were comfortable. Frank came over and began to unwrap the bandages, callused hands swiftly winding cotton lengths, reminding Matt of his father, when he used to watch, and eventually just listen to him, prepare for a match or training, wrapping fabric over his knuckles.

Frank let out a low whistle when the bandages were eventually removed. ‘Wow. The people who patched you up didn’t really know what they were doing. Oh wait? Two sets of stitches. I retract my statement, the second person seemed to have more of an idea, but struggled to patch up the first person’s job. Red you gonna tell me who it was? I could do with giving them some pointers on first aid.’

‘Foggy the first time.’ Matt slowly whispered. ‘And then a stranger, someone who said their name was Thomas.’

‘I would have guessed that Nelson has been learning online… Yeah, I’m going to have to strip these stitches out again Red. I think it might already be infected too, we’ll have to get you on some antibiotics. Did you actually take any Tramadil?’

‘Don’t need it. Don’t want to be all fuzzy.’

‘This will hurt then. Not going to be sorry about it though Red, you need this looked at.’

Deftly, and with hands that suggested previous experience, Frank quickly removed all the stitches from Matt’s leg, as the latter winced, trying not to show the pain on his face as he twisted his hands together, muttering under his breath, and wishing to be anywhere else but there. If only he had superhealing along with his senses, then he wouldn’t end up in this position anymore. A sharp prodding on his wound, inside his skin, shouldn’t be there, wrong, wrong, wrong, no, no, shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t.

‘Infected. Wasn’t flushed out properly Red, brace yourself it needs cleaning again.’ The smell of salt filled the air as Frank opened a bottle of saline, quickly pouring it over and into the wound, as Matt sucked in his breath, trying to focus on the sound of droplets of water falling off his limb, and onto the floor, soaking into the carpet. Matt knew that the smell of salt would stay in the apartment for a while, adding to the scent of gun oil, gunpowder and coppery blood that already soaked the space, evidence of Frank’s existence even when he tried so hard to hide himself from the world. He wondered if any of Frank’s neighbours knew who he was, if he spoke to them, or if they gossiped about their mystery neighbour, who they hardly ever saw, and kept to himself, but probably said hello to them if he passed them in the hallway, or pet their animals. Because although he played the part of a tough sniper, someone who didn’t care, Matt knew that in the past he had had a family, had kids. And although they were long gone, Frank was still capable of having emotion, of being ‘nice’, even though the majority of those who knew of him could only see him as a remorseless killer.

This so called emotionless sniper had now moved onto stitching the hole in Matt’s leg up again, neat lines pulling together the ruined skin, the soft snip of scissors as he tied the final knot. Then the pressure of a pad of gauze, swiftly covered by clean cotton bandages, covering the mess of injury.

‘It’ll scar, another one to add to your collection Red.’ Matt weakly lifted his arm, as though to say he didn’t care, before straightening again, rubbing his hand over his face and tugging the hood back down.

‘Red, I don’t care about your eyes. I know your identity, know your friends, talk to them. I’ve seen worse than a blind man’s eyes. Here, take these, antibiotics.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the delay, ended up having to take a break in the middle of writing due to holiday and personal issues! Hope you enjoyed, Lily shouldn't be too long with the next chapter?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm sorry that this took so long, I have a few shit excuses that include being ill, drowning under a mountain of coursework and also sleeping. Sorry.

For the second time that day, Matt woke up on Frank Castle's couch. Everything still ached, but the hot sensation in his leg had faded, the antibiotics and painkillers were working. 

"Oh you're awake. Need anything?" Frank walked into the living room, phone clicking as he text someone. 

"I'm ok. I think. Tired. You know what the time is?"

"Yeah it's about 9.15pm. On Thursday the 22nd of March." That didn't work. Frank was telling the truth, but the dates were confusing. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. You were at Lorraine's for a couple days." That was too long, his client, he had things to do - "relax, you needed the rest."

"I've missed things. No amount of 'rest' can fix that."

"It will be fine. If you're that desperate you can leave now, you're looking a lot better."

"I don't need your permission to go home"

"Ok. But you have to talk to Karen. I'll tell her you will." 

"That's not necessary. I'm fine" 

"Well she's worried. Talk to her." Frank was telling the truth, and he didn't sound like he was willing to argue. 

"Yeah, I will." Matt's leg ached as he stood up, but it held. 

"Take the antibiotics" Frank threw a bottle that rattled at Matt's head. 

"I will."

"Talk to Karen."

"I said i would" Frank laughed at him and walked back to the kitchen as Matt left the apartment. 

**

Matt was sorting through his case notes when Karen burst through the office door. "Matt! Are you ok? Frank text me, said you got hurt? It's that why you've been ignoring us? Why have you been ignoring us? Are you ok?" That was... a lot of questions. 

"Hi Karen"

"Hi! Is that it?"

"Sorry. Um. I'm sorry."

"You know that you can tell me, whatever's going on, right?"

"I'm fine. Really. It's just been... a rough few days"

"Clearly. You look like hell. How badly hurt?"

"Not that bad, it's fine, he over reacted."

"Yes, because he's known for over reacting and worrying." Matt wasn't going to be able to convince her that he was fine. What if he told the truth, how would she react? Probably not well. She'd worry, it was better not to, she'd be happier. "Fine. Don't tell me." She paused, and looked down at the floor. "Foggy is worried about you." He what.

"We - we haven't spoken."

"I know. You should, speak to him. Even it is just 'Good morning'" 

"I've been busy, we weren't, we didn't, it's complicated"

"You had a fight. Time to make up" it wasn't that simple though. 

"Mmmm. So you've been speaking to Frank?" 

"Not really, except for yesterday. You can add him to the list of people who worry about you"

"Mmmm" Matt didn't really think that Frank cared that much. But Karen certainly thought that she was telling the truth. Karen sighed. 

"We care, Matt. Sometimes you need to let people help you." She sounded sad. 

"Ok."

She sighed again and changed the subject abruptly. 

"And Frank sent me this pic of you in a fluffy Harry Potter hoody which- well you can't see it, but it's very cute" she laughed awkwardly. "So. That's it? You're not speaking to Foggy now?"

"I don't know"

"We worry about you. We can help you, if you let us." True. She was so sincere, so convinced she, that they, could help. And she didn't care about if it was fair to involve her in all of this. Maybe he should let them?

"Well, I'll come by tomorrow, see if I can be any help." She stepped forward and hugged him, and Matt breathed in the smell of strawberry shampoo. 

"I'll see you tomorrow Karen"

"Promise" 

**

It was Friday night, the infection was fading, and Matt's leg felt well enough that he would to be able to patrol, so long as he was careful. Anyway, friday night was often the one where Daredevil would be needed the most. 

Matt moved across the rooftops of hells kitchen, scanning for any disturbance. There were very few, surprising for a friday night. He frowned to himself. Karen had suggested that Foggy was worried about him. Frank clearly thought he was, although that seems to be based purely on their interactions during Frank's case. Lorraine had thought that Foggy would be worried, had been so sure that he cared. And he'd helped. He'd stitched up Matt's leg as best he could. But he'd left him again. Was he angry? It was fair enough, who wouldn't be angry at Matt, if the were on Foggy's position. How angry though? Enough to leave him, but not enough to ignore him. Had he left Matt though? What if he hadn't? What if Matt had left? He couldn't remember, it was all vague, and blurry, he couldn't even remember getting shot. What if Foggy had wanted to talk? Had Matt spent a week ignoring him? But if he really wanted too, surely Foggy would have called him, or something, by now? What if he was waiting for Matt to say something?

There was noise in the alley below, cutting into Matt's thoughts. 2 men, arguing, but not fighting. As Matt listened, one of the men swore at the other, then left. The other wandered out of the alley and away a few minutes later. Not a threat, to anyone.

What if Matt called Foggy, said he wanted to talk? What would Foggy say, what would he do? Frank thought he should, thought that Matt should get over it and speak to him. And what about Frank, this magic stuff? It seemed impossible, but a couple of years ago aliens pouring out of the sky and destroying New York would have been thought impossible. How could a market exist, but not be seen by anyone, and not have been heard or smelt by Matt? Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Matt, paused, and realised that there was a drop to the alley below just a few feet ahead. He should have been more focused. Matt jumped across the gap to the next roof, then landed on his right leg, stumbled and swore. Across the roof, someone moved. Matt swore again. Stupid. Should have been paying more attention, should have noticed them, shouldn't have jumped onto the injured leg. 

"Oh it's you. Back again?" It was the roommate, from when not- Thomas had stitched his leg. Matt had ended up back on their building, without realising it. "Did you land on the injured leg?"

"Yes" it was hurting more now, feeling like stitches had been pulled out. "You're the roommate? From the other week?" 

"Yep. You're Daredevil." He hadn't noticed the accent last time, sort of Spanish, sort of southern, sort of something else. "Do you need me to look at the stitches?"

"No"

"Sure? It's not like I'm doing anything else with my morning. And I know how to clean and stitch a wound. The alternative is limping home and doing yourself more damage." True. And it couldn't hurt to let him look at the stitches. 

"Fine. But the mask stays on." 

"Sure." He steps close to help Matt up. He smells of lavender again, but the leather jacket reminds Matt of not-thomas more. 

**

"Well, you've made a mess of the stitches."

"Yeah. Friend patched it up."

"Patched is about right. Do you understand what rest and recuperation means?"

"Don't have time

"Mmm. Well maybe try not to rip the new stitches out. There's only so many times you can have this stitched back together."

"And it got infected. After the last set of stitches, I mean"

"You mean the ones T- we did? Did you keep it clean?" 

"Tried to" he had, he had just been so exhausted, at Lorraine's, and had forgotten.

"The stitches your roommate put in were good though."

"What name did he say? Last time?"

"Thomas."

"Ok. I'm Sam." Lie, but an expected one. "Yeah he's had some medical training, but he's not a surgeon. The best way to avoid all this though is to not get shot, stabbed or otherwise injured." 

"Tricky to avoid, doing this." 

"But not impossible." Perhaps, and Sam seemed sincere, and not naive either, he knew what he was talking about. Something about Sam almost reminded Matt of Foggy, there was a similar trustworthiness to them, something that made them both easy to talk to. 

"Do you believe in magic?" Sam stilled for a second, then quietly continued fixing damaged stitches.

"What kind? The fairies and witches kind, or the sunrise in the Mojave Desert kind?"

"Uhh. The first one."

"Yeah. Don't trust it, but yeah. It exists. Why?"

"Something a friend said. Shouldn't have mentioned it."

"Mmm well. Want my advice? Stay away. Stay well away. Oh, and if you bring it anywhere near this apartment, we will kill you." Truth. Worryingly.

"Can I ask about the second sort?" 

"The 'sunrise over the Mojave Desert' kind? Sure. I grew up there. My aunt used to take us out for the night, we'd watch the sunrise. It's a more, ancient kinda magic. Older. Less sparkles and more, I don't know, awe? Tricky to explain if you haven't lived it."

"But you still believe"

"I believe a lot of things" he said it with a half-laugh, like an inside joke with himself. "What did your friend say? About magic?" Perhaps not a question Matt should answer, but he was starting to think that there was very little that could phase Sam.

"Nothing much, it was confusing. Something about a market, I think."

"Really?" Shit. He was interested now, Matt could hear Sam's heart rate pick up slightly. "Tell him that's a dangerous place for someone who may not know their way around to hang out. Far too easy to bargain your life away." True. Shit. He shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have raised the whole magic question in the first place. But, if he didn't ask any more, then Frank could get hurt, or end up 'bargaining his life away.

"What do you mean?"

Sam sat back, and stretched his arms back over his head, then reached for the bandages laid out on the table. "That market is very much the 'fairies and witches' kinda magic. But not the sparkly, cute, Disney kind. The, uhh, it's easy to get lost in, easy to get distracted by the bright lights, and the people, and the food, and if you don't pay enough attention to what's happening around you, who's watching you, who's following you, you might not come back out. It's too easy to lose track of time, and too easy to forget what you came for. And the people, the stall holders, they don't need to be paid in money. They'll take promises, and trinkets, locks of hair or years of your life as payment. Safer to stay away." All true. 

"How do you know all this?"

Sam laughed. "Been around a bit, seen a few things." He pinned the last bandage in place then sat back. "Thats all done, don't jump off buildings, don't get shot, you know the drill."

"Thank you"

"Mmm" Sam's phone chimed on the table. "You should go, Thomas is bringing someone back, and you'll be tricky to explain. And I need to find my headphones before they get here."

**

Matt taped the last plastic bag around his leg in am effort to keep the bandages dry and stepped into the shower. The hot water soothed his bruised but healing shoulder, and the ache of the swollen wrist. Other than the leg, his injuries seemed to be healing well. Which meant he was free to think instead of meditate. Matt want really sure that that was such a good thing. Going forward, he had 2 options. Do nothing, never make an effort to contact Foggy, just let the friendship end. Or do something, call Foggy, meet him for coffee, try and save the friendship. The thought of the first option... hurt. Foggy was his oldest, best friend. The possibility of losing that, of losing him... but it might already be too late. Weeks of silence, of fighting, could that really be undone? Then again, Foggy had left him. He must have had a reason for that. Which left option 2. Call him, and risk rejection. Risk Foggy ignoring g the call entirely, it worse, just telling Matt that he didn't want anything to do with him anymore. Frank had made his opinion clear, but Frank wasn't exactly in the best position to be giving advice. He also didn't understand all the reasons why they weren't communicating. Lorraine believed that Foggy cared. She would tell him to call. Claire would call him an idiot and call Foggy herself. Then be grumpy that Matt had gotten shot. Karen would call Foggy herself as well. It was the sort of people that they were. Lorraine and Frank could both be wrong. But if he didn't call Foggy, if he didn't try to fix this, that would never be anything to fix. Matt stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. He'd sleep first, it was late, and he was exhausted. He'd make a decision in the morning. 

**  
_________________________________________  
Good news! Daredevil was seen on patrol late Friday night. It's good to know that the man in black is back. If anyone has any further updates please contact us through our website.  
_________________________________________

**

Matt frowned and flicked through documents, looking for the right one. The hearing was tomorrow, and his client was relying on him. The injuries had set him behind, his client could lose her home. 

The door below slammed shut, and Matt could hear Karen humming as she climbed the stairs. He turned to gave her as she crashed through the door into the office, bringing with her the scent of pizza and perfume. 

"I bought lunch! And some notes I found on the last housing case we did, I'm sure you have them but they might be useful. How are you? How's your leg? Have you spoken to Claire?"

"The let's fine thanks, and I haven't spoken to Claire yet. Thank you for lunch"

"Oh it's not a problem. How's this case going?"

"Good, I think. But i have something else to talk about."

Karen's heart rate and breathing instantly picked up "you have? What is it?"

"I'm going to call Foggy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine a world where I had a consistent layout... 
> 
> Shout out to Rin-Rin for commenting "more please" and reminding my lazy ass to get on with it (thanks).
> 
> Also: do I go back and re-edit chapter 2? There are some bits that could be clearer, but not sure if I can be bothered tbh. (No plot changes tho) ( ha 'plot' that's funny, definitely not making this up as we go along).
> 
> But seriously, your comments and kudos are appreciated :).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I cannot write Karen for the life of me.... Also this is an incredibly talky chapter, after Lily left me with that wonderful cliff hanger and a promise of a talk between our boys.

The pair went back to Matt's apartment, where Matt changed into more comfortable clothing, the exhaustion from pulling an all-nighter again finally catching up to him, although for the hearing this time, not from going out. How could he, Frank had confiscated his suit, and he wasn't that foolish to go out as the man in the mask with his injuries. It wasn't that he was so tired, so exhausted, that he couldn't even imagine climbing a rooftop. He instead went for using a (stolen) burner phone to tip off the police to things he heard, sitting in his window late at night, listening to the sounds of the kitchen, and just wishing, he wasn't so foolish to have been shot, and then been bullied by an old lady and the punisher. He'd attempted to follow Frank and Lorraine's advice of rest, although when he genuinely tripped over on the way home to work in the morning, he'd felt a couple of stitches pop. Thankfully the bullet wound seemed to be healing, not for the first time he wished for healing abilities, his tendency to be injured, and supersenses, seemed to make everything so much worse. And now he was in his own home, not having to show a fake mask, and nothing to focus on, his leg was truly hurting him, waves of pain travelling out from the injury. He didn't take the Tramadil, or any more Cocomadol, he needed a clear mind to win this case for his client, and to hopefully pick up a paying client, although he didn't mind pro bono cases, he still needed to pay his rent. He worried that the lack of any medicine meant that his leg was on its way to getting infected, even though he had tried to keep it covered, he could smell the beginning hints of an infection. After this hearing, after this was done, maybe he would see Claire. Or perhaps it would be easier to bump into Frank again.

'Fog?' Matt's voice choked as he spoke the simple word down the phone.  
'Matty, what's wrong? Where are you, how badly are you hurt? Have you got Claire, do you need me to get hold of her?'  
'Fog I'm fine I'm sorry I shouldn't have called.'  
'What have you done? Matty?'  
The phone went silent as Matt hung up and then threw it down onto the floor, landing with a clatter.  
'I can't do it Karen. I can't come back into your lives, you'll end up hurt, people always do around me.' As he spoke, he walked to the sofa, sitting with his arm over his eyes. Under his breath, he muttered 'Murdock boys have the devil in them. You're too soft Matty.'  
'Matt. I know Foggy, he's worried about you. Since that night he patched you up he keeps waiting for you to turn up again, and he's constantly reading that Daredevil tracker site.'  
'Wait. So it was him. I thought so, but I wasn't sure. He left me in a dumpster!'  
Karen seemed to attempt to stifle a laugh, her shoulders shaking before taking a deep breath and becoming more serious.   
'We still care for you Matt. We still love you, we don't want to see you hurt even if we don't fully agree with your nighttime activities.'   
'….He left me in a dumpster...'  
The sudden sound of Matt's phone ringing startled the pair of them, its dull voice repeating 'Foggy. Foggy. Foggy.'   
'I can't. I've hurt him too much, hurt you both too much to try and get back to how we were.'  
'That's not your sole decision to make Matt. We're a team, okay? That means we make a decision together, and Foggy and I would really like you to stay in our lives. Yes it won't be the same anymore, but we need to find a new normal, us 3, and Frank if you want.'   
'How. How after all that I've done, can you even want me back. How can you ever trust me again.'   
'Matt. Oh Matt.' Karen stopped her slow pacing to sit next to Matt, a trembling hand considering holding his then deciding against it, settling instead in her own lap. 'You're Foggy's brother Matt. That's the magic of family. You've known each other, been together for so long, that even after all of this, he still wants to be in your life. Yes it hurt him, hurt both of us when we found out about your nighttime activities, and trying to wrap our heads around how a blind Catholic lawyer also spends his nights patrolling Hell's Kitchen and protecting us all.'  
'You said Foggy keeps reading a tracking site?'   
'I know you're changing the subject Matt. But here, let me find it, it should be open still somewhere.'  
Unlocking her phone, she scrolled through her many open tabs, finally finding the right site.  
'Here.' She turned the phone around, pointing it towards Matt.   
'Um, Karen...'  
'Fuck. Sorry. Its just, I don't know, I'm struggling to work out, or understand how you can be Daredevil, but still be blind. It seems impossible what you do, even for a, for a normal, no, an abled person.'  
'It's difficult to explain. I described it before as a world on fire. The chemicals that blinded me also enhanced my other senses, I can hear the smallest of details, a person's heartbeat, the brush of a hand against fabric. I can sense changes and vibrations in air currents, which can help me to map where someone is, how they're moving, what weapons they have. I can identify people by their scent and voice.'  
'Their scent? What do I-'  
'-Strawberry.'  
'Oh.'  
'But even though I can piece together an image of the world, I still can't see. I would still use my cane, as it's easier than having to concentrate on everyone who's around me, and sometimes it's difficult to detect items on the floor.'  
'All those accidents you told us you had, tripping taking out the trash, catching yourself on a door. They were all due to daredevil?'  
'Mostly. Once I did genuinely fall down the stairs taking the trash out.'  
A sharp, desperate hammering on the door stopped them from their questions, as the door was desperately jiggled.   
'Matt, Matt open up! Are you in here?!'  
'Foggy' Karen softly said, moving to the door, as Matt also stood, his legs wobbling, before lifting a hand in defeat and dropping back to the sofa.   
'Too weak, pathetic.' He muttered to himself, before attempting to fix a smile, soon giving up and waiting, listening as his door opened, Foggy falling through.  
'Karen? What are you doing here, where's Matt? How badly hurt is he?'  
'Physically, just about managing? A few different people have been patching him up, I haven't checked any of his injuries as I don't really know what I'm doing. Mentally, well...' She tried to speak quietly, a soft gentle whisper, but Matt still heard, still heard the pity in her voice, the same way people would talk about the poor blind boy when they visited the orphanage.   
'Matt..' He heard Foggy's voice catch as he caught sight of him, head lifting blearily to look in Foggy's general direction. He knew he must look a mess, sat in his apartment in joggers and a hoodie. He hadn't slept for days, forcing himself to research, to catch up on the time he had missed. He owed it to his client. The brief quiet moments in which he had been able to meditate did a little to relieve his exhaustion and pain. Luckily his face had remained unbruised, noone at court or in public would suspect anything, and whenever asked about his limp he just claimed a sprained ankle, that he'd had it looked at and that he was fine.   
'Matt you're a fucking idiot, you know that? C'mon buddy, why do you keep going out when you're injured, you're going to kill yourself one of these days.'  
'Why don't you hate me Foggy. You should hate me for the lies, for the secrets, for how I've treated you. I still want to be friends, to be family, but there's something in my mind telling me no, that you'll just end up hurt because of me. You cared enough to patch me up, but then left me in a dumpster? I don't understand.'  
'I couldn't see you hurt, but if we wanted to talk, it had to be Matt and Foggy, not Daredevil. You get in a different mind when you let the devil out, and I knew that I couldn't speak rationally, that I'd just get angry at you, that anything we said would end up as an argument, if we spoke when you were in the suit. I didn't expect you to run yourself into the ground though first, most people take a rest when they get fucking shot Matt!' Foggy stopped, taking deep breaths before stepping over, sitting next to Matt on the couch.   
'You worry me Matt. You try and cut yourself away from everyone, thinking you're not worth anything, that we'd be better off without you. But we're family Matt. Avocados at law. Yes I would have liked it if you told me about Daredevil sooner, about what you could do.'  
'I never knew how to bring it up to you. Like oh yeah, I'm your new roommate, I'm blind but I have supersenses and was trained by a psycho blind ninja to fight? How could that discussion ever be appropriate, how would I know how you'd react?'  
'I would have preferred anything to finding you in a pool of your own blood Matt.' Foggy said, pure anger and disappointment in his voice.   
'Foggy...'  
'No, Matt, you don't get to try and apologise here. Fuck, I said I wouldn't cry.' He scrubbed at his eyes, sniffing sharply, Matt could smell salt from his tears, but could only sit there, trying to understand, trying to work out what to say.  
'Fuck Matt. Fuck.'  
Karen, who by now had begun to feel a tad awkward in the middle of their discussion, began to busy herself making coffee. 'Matt you have no milk, well no food at all, I'll go down the shops.'  
'Oh, don't worry Karen.'  
'No, you two don't need me here, I'll be back in a bit, talk through what you need to. I just want you to be safe Matt.' With that she left, Matt tracked her out of the apartment and down the street, towards the local 24hour shop.  
'Fuck Fog, I'm sorry, I know I messed up. I've always been taught, cut people out, don't get attached, and when I get hurt you're put in so much danger, I don't know what I would do if you got hurt because of me.'  
'Matt, we don't want you to get hurt though, if you let us help you, we won't worry as much, if you let yourself have a support team. I know you've got Claire, but you can't rely on her all the time, she's not always going to be able to patch you up, you're not the only vigilante she has to look after. Let me take these first aid courses, ring me when you get hurt. I know I ignored you the other night, and that was my mistake, I felt bitter, I didn't want to speak to you right then, but I should have let you in.'  
'I thought you hated me.'  
'No. Well yes, for a while. I hated the fact I had no idea who you are, that you'd held such a secret from me for so many years. And the fact that you felt as though you had to hide that from me? You had no one who could know what you can really do, you're forced to live this double life to everyone. I hate that you felt the need to hide this from me, I've only ever wanted to be your friend, to be your brother, your partner. All these years, all the things we've gone through together, and our dreams of Nelson and Murdock, and never once could you manage to just tell me, just say, that you were struggling so much, of the things you can hear, the things you must have had to ignore in college. You're not a one-man army Matt, let us help you. I know you think we can't, that it's your problem alone to bear, but we can help, both sides of the law.'  
'He tried to make me into a child soldier. I was 11 years old. He trained me in the basement at St Agnes, as many days of the week as possible, trying to break me, trying to make me into a murderer. But I always refused to kill. I wanted a father, he just wanted an emotionless, orphan soldier, who had no attachments, nothing holding me back from this supposed war. He taught me how to control my senses, filter out what was unnecessary and piece the puzzle together, to be able to fight. What he did was probably abuse, or torture. I remember being held down, stuck in grips and locks, and not being released, even when I was sobbing with pain. He would threaten to break my fingers if i didn't obey him, I was so broken, and from the Sisters' point of view, I was so much better, I wasn't screaming all the time, so they just let him come and take me, let him train me. I grew attached, I was only 9 when my Dad died, and I saw Stick as more than my mentor. But I was still too emotional, too attached to be his perfect soldier, I made him a bracelet once, from an ice cream wrapper, he took me back to the orphanage and just left me there, he never came back, he chose new subjects, new projects he could train and break.'  
'Matt...'  
'I tried to stop, I didn't want to be a fighter, a murderer, but the sounds of the city at night are too much. I heard a father abusing his daughter, hiding it from her mother, she was so scared, I couldn't let it happen. There's so much pain at night, so many people hurting others, hurting the innocent, and the law can only do so much, I can't help everyone through the law, it's too slow, too safe. And I know I'm at risk doing this, but it's my decision Foggy. I'm not going to, I can't change who I am.'   
'I just wish I knew sooner. I get all of what you do Matt, the people of Hell's Kitchen do need you, they need the devil, but not at the cost of Matt Murdock, he's important too. All those people who benefit from you as a lawyer, don't put them at risk because of those the Devil saves. And I need you Matt, okay? I know Nelson and Murdock didn't end up as we hoped, but I think, I hope, with a little time, we can start over. I miss you Matt, and it's been hurting so much to ignore you.'


End file.
